Bitter-Sweet
by SingleHearts
Summary: A little one-shot that deals with a were-coyote, a stubborn Stiles, an old vending machine and a strange addiction for pop-tarts. It cant get any weirdly sweeter than that, can it?


**I DID IT! I wrote a oneshot! Please tell me this is a one-shot! I've been wanting to write a one-shot since I've been trying to write a one-shot. So this better be considered a one-shot. **

**I dont know why I always write fics write before a big exam *shrugs* **

**Okay i hope you like and enjoy this =) And that it sort of makes up for my lag of updates on my other fics he he (sorry about that, im on it i swear) **

**PLEASE REVIEW! Reviews brighten up my day, they make me happy lol **

Stiles feels completely exhausted, Coach Finstock had gotten carried away with suicides making him run until his legs were shaking with fatigue. He can still hear the resonance of that damn whistle vibrating between his ears. There is a major migraine coming in just a few minutes, he could feel it.

Scott is walking beside him as they make their way into the hallways ready to meet up with the rest of the pack so they could all head on home.

"Hey! You guys ready? Liam is waiting at the parking lot with Mason," Kira is running towards them, sneakers squeaking against the floor as she looks at Scott with excited eyes. The two are adorable, Stiles can't deny it, but the over-adoration and saccharine sweetness really makes him feel nauseated at times. He prefers more of that soothing strong natural bitter-sweet, like dark chocolate; it tastes magnificently sweet on its own without all the added sugar.

"Where's Malia?" Stiles quickly interrupts the cotton candy making display going on right beside him, as he looks over to the empty hallway. "I thought she stayed for practice?" He turns to look at Kira, expecting her to have an answer, because Malia usually follows Kira into the girl's locker room right after practice is done. "Yeah, she did. She was just-" Kira's voice slowly fades as she turns to look at practically nobody behind her. Stiles raises an eyebrow playfully at the Kitsune who lets out a shy apologetic smile in return, "She's probably, outside?"

Stiles smiles at her, because he knows how hard it is to keep Malia under watch. She could be walking next to you one moment and then as soon as you turn around a corner she is gone. This may be one of the few things he really doesn't like about Malia, not that he doesn't like it more like it scares the effin crap out of him. He is an anxious worried human as it is, having to constantly be worrying about Malia magically disappearing from his life just doesn't add on nicely to his anxiety problems.

"I'll go find her," Stiles tells Kira before passing her, "Tell Liam and Mason that I'll be there in a few and if they can't wait they can walk their lazy asses to their respective homes," he yells out for both Kira and Scott to hear as he heads down the hallway. "I never signed up for chauffer duty anyways," he mumbles out the last part as he exits the main building in search of the were-coyote.

* * *

Stiles already knew where to find her as soon as he exited the building. The moment he had taught Malia how to properly use a vending machine, without all the kicking, punching and eventual vandalism, he had noticed that all the loose change in his house, his car and any other possible place, where loose change could be found, had disappeared. Turns out Malia _loves_ pop-tarts and the school's vending machines are always loaded with that junk.

Stiles caught on to Malia's addiction when he found piles of wrappers stashed in her backpack, in her locker and smashed between the pages of her math textbook. He then took it upon himself to be the one to provide her with her drug, being the one to please her instead of the vending machines. He bought her two whole boxes of pop-tarts and placed them on a hidden top shelf in his kitchen were only Malia would be able to reach. Yet, his attempt to spoil the were-coyote didn't even last a week. Thus, here she is, grunting at a very old vending machine because it refuses to give her the dose of the day.

Stiles stands quietly only a few feet away, smiling idiotically at the spectacle before him. Malia is standing firm, knees apart with both fists clenched tight at her sides. She had been about to throw a fist at the machine when Stiles spotted her, but she managed to restrain herself. Reminding herself that she nor Stiles can afford to pay another broken thing.

Malia is now on the verge of growling menacingly at the machine like if it were prey, threatening it to yield or else. She has passed her point of human sanity by this point.

Stiles, who had been observing quietly from a distance, is no longer able to contain his laughter and yields before the machine does. "Are you planning to have a standoff with a vending machine?"

Malia turns to look at Stiles who is still laughing like a doof, but her frustrated glare still manages to soften at the sight of him. "I put in the money like you told me, but it won't give me my pop-tart. Stiles, you said that if I paid for something then it is rightfully mine. That pop-tart is mine." Malia points at the hanging snack in the vending machine and Stiles lets out another laugh.

Stiles knows how persistent Malia can be and how strict on the rules she can also be, wild or human she follows the rules and insists the rules follow itself down to the last letter. Malia won't be leaving here until that machine follows that one human rule Stiles taught her.

"Why are you laughing?" Malia growls, her frustration levels rising up again. She never understands what's so funny to Stiles. Whenever she asks a serious question he giggles or breaks into a smile, whenever she makes a serious remark he snorts and now that she is being completely seriously pissed off he laughs. Malia doesn't yet understand that a laugh or a smile can mean more than the expressive response for something that is "funny."

Stiles has noticed how this often makes Malia angry, so he tries to bite his tongue or the inside of his cheek to keep him from laughing and smiling, but it's hard. So, since he met Malia he has adapted this 'fool me not that's a smile' kind of smile, one that secretly creeps up from the corner of his mouth but spreads fully in the twinkle of his eyes. And this smile is only and especially created for Malia Tate, because the boy can't help but smile at everything that she is, even though Malia believes he does it for everything that she isn't.

"Yup, you were totally about to have a standoff with that thing for a stinking pop-tart," Stiles playfully teases, secretly adoring the reaction he is getting from the were-coyote. Malia glares at Stiles, clearly not joining in on his amusement.

He smirks and walks towards the side of the machine, dropping his heavy bags in the progress, "Here, let the expert handle this." He winks at Malia before hitting the side of the machine with a swing of his hip.

Malia had crossed her arms in front of her chest, a sign of expectation. "Did it work?" Stiles asked, a little excited at the possibility that his stupid technique actually worked. "Nope," Malia replies, popping the consonant between her lips.

To be completely honest, Stiles does not have such a great history with vending machines. Every time he deals with one it usually ends up broken, but Stiles loves to brainwash himself, placing made up successes over failures.

"Okay, lemme try this," Stiles stands in front of the machine, rubbing his hands together and licking his lips as he spreads his legs apart.

It's too late, Stiles has declared war. Malia can be persistent but Stiles is stubborn as fuck.

Malia tilts her head to the side as she watches her mate get physical with a vending machine, "Stiles, what are you doing?" Stiles cheek is pressed flush against the glass, pink staining the sides of his face. "Trying to get the _stinking_ pop-tart," Stiles mumbles out, keeping the side of his face glued to a dirty glass window.

Malia scowls, furrowing her brows as she tries to comprehend how doing _this_ is going to get _that_ to happen, "I don't see how hugging _it_ is going to work." Stiles quickly jumps away from the machine, acting like if he has just been caught cheating on his girlfriend. He is feeling slightly embarrassed and possibly stupid, "I wasn't _hugging_ it, I was trying to _shake it_, maybe nudge it, loosen it up a little bit." Malia furrows her eyebrows at the tired looking boy, "Oh, well I think you forgot to move it." Stiles turns back to the machine flailing his arms as he mumbles to himself, "Well that's what I was trying to do."

Fifteen minutes have passed since Stiles set out to get Malia, and the two were still at it with the vending machine. Malia is now sitting cross legged on the concrete floor, her chin resting on her palm as she looks at Stiles battle it out with the enemy of the month. "Stiles," Malia has already lost interest, in fact she was getting extremely hungry and seeing all those snacks made her want to break the glass and dig in on the food, "Let's go home."

The entire pack has already left, Scott called about 9 minutes ago telling Stiles that Lydia had taken Mason and Liam home, which came to a surprise to Stiles, but felt pleased with the news nonetheless. Scott has gone too with Kira, and now Stiles and Malia are the only ones left on school grounds.

Stiles is already looking tired, but no more than he looks frustrated. He gave up on the whole "macho-man" technique a while back and is now trying to stick his hand in through the slot. It is deeming kind of useless since the stupid pop-tart is hanging on the middle row, too far even for Stiles' long arm to reach.

"Come on Stiles, your dad will be home soon for dinner," Malia gets up from the floor and walks towards Stiles, grabbing him by the waist as she gently drags him away from the machine. "But-but I almost had it," Stiles is looking at the thing with such a sad expression, you would think that it is him with the pop-tart addiction.

Stiles hates, detests, feeling useless. He knows he is no hero, but if he could do but just a small thing for anybody _especially_ for this feral adoring creature that trusts him like no other human being has ever trusted him before, then _damn it_ he will do it. It's just that Stiles has stinking rotten luck, and life can really be such a dick sometimes to him. So, nothing ever goes as Stiles wants it to go.

Malia smiles at Stiles as she straightens him up, placing her hand on his cheek and turning his head towards her. Stiles looks at her with apologetic eyes and she kisses his lips, rubbing her thumb gently across his cheek bone as she breathes him in.

Malia doesn't need a hero; she doesn't need a prince charming either, because she is no fucking princess that needs rescuing. Malia just needs and wants what Stiles Stilinski is and gives her—understanding, freedom, kindness and joy.

Stiles' eyes grow wide, surprised for a few seconds at the sudden kiss. It's hard to come to one's senses that someone actually wants to be intimately close to you as much as you want to be intimately close to them, when you have been often shunned down by many. It's a little of an inner battle that Stiles has going on, never truly believing that he may actually be good for someone, that he may never actually be good for Malia.

Just as he was relaxing, ready to part his lips and tilt his head to further the kiss, letting his desires take over his stupid logic, Malia gently pulls away. She opens her lids and smiles down at Stiles who still has his lids closed and his lips seemingly puckered up. "I like the ones you make me a lot better," she gently whispers right against his lips and Stiles flutters his eyelids open. He looks at Malia a little confused, like he has just been awoken from some very good dream, and he lifts the corner of his lip into a half smile, the stupid vending machine ordeal already disintegrating in the backburner of his mind. He looks at Malia with a different twinkle in his eyes, and Malia realizes that he is glowing in a different a light. She smiles at him again, melting him and building him up in seconds.

He is totally buying pop-tarts later tonight and popping them in the toaster, if it gets Malia to whisper and smile at him like that all night, because nothing tastes better than the bitter-sweet flavor Malia provides him with.


End file.
